The Domestication and Training of Serpents
by Nimori
Summary: SLASH. WIP. An unexpected owl turns everyone's lives up-side-down. For Harry, Lucius, Severus, and Draco, the world will never be the same.
1. One

Title: The Domestication and Training of Serpents  
Author: Nimori  
Pairings: LM/HP, may be others later  
Rating: R  
Disclaimer: See that lady over there? Hers, not mine. See all the money? Same deal.  
Archive: Beloved Enemies, my site, others on request  
Feedback: is a wonderful thing. nimorii@yahoo.ca  
Summary: An unexpected owl turns everyone's lives up-side-down. For Harry,  
Lucius, Severus, and Draco, the world will never be the same.   
  
AN: This answers a whole bunch of challenges from the Harry X Lucius ML. I don't like to post WIPs to places where large amounts of people will read it, but a couple of people have asked to read this without having to hunt through hundreds of messages, and I'm too lazy to code this for my website right now. Standard WIP warnings apply (i.e., author reserves the right to make sudden changes and massive rewrites, or to bugger off and never finish).  
  
Warnings: In case you didn't notice: SLASH AHOY! I'm not sure if other warnings will apply to later chapters.  
  
* * * * *   
  
The Domestication and Training of Serpents  
by Nimori  
  
  
*25th July*  
  
The smoke-grey owl swooped in the open window, and landed politely on the perch  
reserved for incoming messages. She had a black and gold crest spelled onto her  
chest-feathers, and Lucius Malfoy noted the device with annoyance. Owls could  
be intercepted, and he had long ago made arrangements with Gringott's to do  
business by fire -- though that did not quite excuse his rough handling of the  
owl, which glared balefully enough to stir his slumbering conscience. That the  
owl refrained from screeching or biting as Lucius brusquely divested her of the  
message only irritated him further.  
  
"Don't be a martyr," he said. The owl ignored him.  
  
His irritation fled quickly enough, for the message was from Gringott's  
Notarization Office, which Lucius corresponded with regularly, but specifically  
the Department of Domestic Forms and Contracts, which he hadn't heard from  
since registering Draco as a pureblood.   
  
Puzzled, Lucius broke the seal and scanned the page. His initial bark of  
laughter died swiftly, and he spent the next few moments alternately flushing  
and turning whiter than the parchment clutched in his hands, interspersing  
these states with bouts of swearing. He finished off with another round of  
laughter.  
  
"Wait for reply," he told the bird, then went to the fireplace, drew his wand,  
and muttered over the flames. They turned green-gold and stilled, allowing him  
to reach in and pull out a sheaf of his most important documents. He riffled  
through them until he found the one he needed, already filled out and only  
requiring his signature.  
  
He remedied that lack, dashed a calculated reply to the notary public, and gave  
both documents to the grey owl. With a self-important flutter, she swept from  
the room to glide away into the summer night.  
  
* * * * *  
  
*31st July*  
  
Supper for the last week had noticeably consisted of food Harry detested, and  
he expected it to do so for at least another week as Aunt Petunia continued to  
go out of her way to avoid accidentally being nice to him on or around his  
birthday. Harry picked at his food to the point that Petunia and Vernon started  
a conversation on ungrateful relatives who didn't appreciate what they were  
given, though Harry well knew if he showed any sign of enjoying his meal they  
would switch to complaining about how much he ate.   
  
How much space he took up. How much air he breathed.  
  
He ate silently, and tried not to smell Dudley's hamburger and chips (for  
Dudley didn't like cabbage rolls any more than Harry), and when he had cleaned  
every disgusting bite from his plate, excused himself to start the dishes. He  
had just filled the sink when the doorbell rang.  
  
"Boy! Go answer that," Vernon said, even though he had finished eating and  
would pass through the foyer on his way to the living room anyway.  
  
Grumbling, Harry threw the tea towel over his shoulder, and went to get the  
door. The bell rang again, the same note somehow conveying more impatience.  
"I'm coming," Harry said, not daring to yell it as he wanted, just in case it  
was someone his aunt and uncle considered important. He opened the heavy door,  
and stared dumfounded at the imposing, impeccably dressed figure of Lucius  
Malfoy.  
  
Reflex jerked him into motion, and he slammed the door, only to have it bounce  
off Malfoy's creepy, snake-headed stick.  
  
"Manners, Mr Potter," Malfoy said, sweeping into the foyer. With rising panic,  
Harry saw two ministry officers follow, a surly-looking goblin trailing them.  
"It's not polite to shut the door in a caller's face."  
  
Malfoy's cold eyes catalogued Harry as he spoke, and Harry was suddenly very  
conscious of the tea towel on his shoulder, the soap suds and tomato paste from  
handling the dirty pots on his hands, the over-sized shirt and jeans he wore --  
knees stained from a day of gardening -- and the split lip he'd sported since  
Dudley shoved him into the banister that morning. He reflexively pulled himself  
up to his full, and unimpressive, height.  
  
"What can I do for you, Mr Malfoy?" Harry asked in a poor imitation of the  
older man's scathing tones.  
  
Malfoy's mouth quirked in an aborted smile. "More than you realize, Mr  
Potter... although I suppose I must call you Harry now."  
  
Vernon's shout cut off Harry's spluttered objection. "Whoever it is, don't keep  
them waiting in the hall, boy!"  
  
"Yes, Harry, don't," Malfoy said, and pushed past Harry, heading for the living  
room and Vernon's irate voice. Harry turned, fully intending to bolt out the  
front door, but the ministry wizards blocked his escape. They herded him after  
Malfoy.  
  
In the living room, Malfoy had backed Petunia into a corner, and tilted her  
chin up with the stick, the snake's silver fangs brushing her throat.  
  
"You must be Harry's aunt. Pity you don't much resemble your late sister. She  
was a lovely creature."  
  
"You're... you're one of those hocus-pocus freaks," Vernon spluttered, and  
Malfoy flushed a dark red and his nostrils flared once before he controlled his  
expression. "Get out my house! I'll not have your kind here." Vernon batted the  
stick away from Petunia, only to find it shoved shoved deep into the folds of  
his own neck, pinning him to the mantle.  
  
"I assure you, Mr Dursley, that I will be most happy to leave this... *quaint*  
little dwelling you call a house, but I will not do so until I've collected  
what's mine." Malfoy abruptly released Vernon, and spun around. He gave Harry  
an odd glance before eyeing the armchair as though it was infested with vermin.  
With a disdainful flick of his cloak, he sat down.  
  
One of the ministry officials cleared his throat. "Ah, yes, Mr Potter. Er, very  
pleased to meet you. I'm Bernard Crane, Wizard of the Peace, and I'll be  
performing the ceremony."  
  
Harry stepped back before the man could attempt to shake his hand. "What  
ceremony? What are you all doing here?"  
  
Crane flushed. "Mr Malfoy has elected to honour the contract made with your  
father shortly after you were born. I believe Mr Rappelhorn notarized the  
original documents?" A pleading note entering his voice as he turned to the  
goblin.  
  
The goblin stepped forward, drawing a shriek from Aunt Petunia, and handed a  
scroll to Harry. He unrolled it, blinking confusion at the welter of legal  
terms. It might as well have been Swahili for all he understood it.  
  
"What is this?" he asked, but the goblin only stared unblinking, and Crane  
stammered something unintelligible.  
  
Malfoy smirked. "It is an unbreakable magical contract, notarized by  
Gringott's." He sighed at Harry's blank expression. "If I must walk you through  
it, it says your father betrothed his first born child to Lucius Malfoy --  
that's me -- and that if I am unmarried on your sixteenth birthday -- that's  
today -- I have the option of wedding you -- that means marriage. As in husband  
and husband."  
  
Silence fell over the room, even the Dursleys too shocked to speak.  
  
"You have a wife," Harry whispered.  
  
"Not anymore."  
  
"You can't want to marry me."  
  
"Oh, but I do. Which is precisely why I've spent the last week divorcing  
Narcissa."  
  
The air seemed too thick to breathe. "But I don't want to marry you."  
  
"You don't have a choice, Harry," Malfoy all but purred.  
  
Harry turned to the ministry wizards.  
  
"Er, he is correct, Mr Potter," Crane said. "If your mother was alive she would  
be able to contest the contract, seeing that she didn't sign it." Harry turned  
instantly to his aunt and uncle, but Crane held up a hand. "And your father's  
wishes take precedence over your current guardians'. I'm sorry, Mr Potter, but  
while you are a minor you are subject to any contracts your parents made in  
your name. When you turn eighteen you may file for an annulment," he added  
soothingly.  
  
Harry shot him a poisonous look. "I don't believe you. Why would my father  
be--betroth me to a *Malfoy*?"  
  
Malfoy brought the snake's head up to his lips; he seemed to be attempting to  
conceal his amusement. "Oh, I offered him something he couldn't resist. A  
rather rare antique book, as I recall. Bound in dragonhide, printed in  
Vienna..."  
  
Heat pounding across his cheeks, Harry unrolled the scroll, too impatient to  
roll the other end up as he went. The parchment spilled across the Dursley's  
rug.   
  
Two signatures graced the bottom, right amove the notary's seal: Lucius  
Malfoy's flamboyant scrawl, and a neat, precise hand Harry knew only too well,  
for it generally decorated his exams in red ink.  
  
*Severus Snape.* 


	2. Two

2.  
  
Hunger was an annoying sensation which Severus tried not to pander to, but  
which would eventually disrupt his concentration to an unacceptable degree if  
he continued to ignore it. He remembered ordering something from the kitchen,  
and saw that it had arrived, though he had yet to check under the absurd little  
silver dome.  
  
It turned out he'd asked for turkey sandwiches. The house elves knew him too  
well, for they spelled the food to keep it fresh for several hours. At the  
first bite, however, Severus remembered why he usually did not eat in his  
workroom. He spat out the offending mouthful and went and washed his hands  
before taking the tray and moving it away from the cauldron, which bubbled with  
an experimental bio-boost potion.  
  
"There has to be an alternate recipe," he told the sandwiches as he sat down  
near the hearth. "A Longbottom-proof alternate." Unfortunately, bio-boost was a  
milder version of pepper-up, and required similarly volatile ingredients.   
  
Severus stared into the flames as he ate, occasionally forgetting to chew,  
turning over the problem in his mind. These few weeks in the middle of summer  
holidays were his favourite. Just long enough after end of the school year to  
relax and recover from any last-minute Longbottom-induced explosions, and just  
long enough before start of classes that the tension headaches had yet to set  
in.  
  
His dreamy contemplation was interrupted by the arrival of an owl. A Gringott's  
owl. Severus scowled, and thought back to his last shopping trip to Slug and  
Jiggers apothecary. Surely he hadn't spent enough to overdraft his vault?  
  
The owl held out a delicately taloned foot, and he stripped the message from  
it.  
  
*_Professor Severus Snape_, you are hereby notified that the conditions  
delineated in the betrothal contract dated the _11th_ day, _December_, of the  
year _1980_, have been met. The applicant, _Lucius Avernus Malfoy_, has  
affirmed his intent to honour the contract, and the ceremony will take place  
the _31st_ day, July, of the year _1996_. Your presence at the ceremony is  
optional.  
  
Pitonschist, Department of Domestic Forms and Contracts, Gringott's.*  
  
Severus read the message again, wondering why Gringott's would notify him of  
Lucius Malfoy's betrothal. What had happened to Narcissa? And why had Lucius  
signed a betrothal agreement four years after he married her?  
  
Shaking his head, Severus set the notice aside. Much as he liked Draco, he  
couldn't stand the boy's father, and he certainly would not attend his wedding  
-- particularly on such short notice.  
  
Behind him, the cauldron gave a mighty -- and very wet -- burp, spraying the  
room with dull, yellow goo.  
  
"Too much ginger," Severus said, and wiped the botched potion from his face  
with his handkerchief.   
  
* * * * *  
  
"So!" Crane said brightly. "We have Mr Rappelhorn and Mr Parish--" He waved at  
the other ministry wizard. "--as witnesses, although I'm sure Mr and Mrs  
Dursley will want to sign as well. The ceremony must be completed before  
midnight, so chop chop!"  
  
Malfoy gave a disgusted snort, and rose to stand beside Harry.  
  
Crane beamed, and produced a small, blue book. The gold lettering read: *Rytes,  
Rituales, and Ceremonyes for the Wizarde of the Peace, 1552-1909*. "We  
congregate under Merlin's law to celebrate a new union--"  
  
"You can't do this, it's barbaric!" Harry shouted.  
  
"A little old-fashioned," Malfoy said, gesturing for Crane to keep speaking.  
"Not used since the turn of the century, in fact, but the betrothal laws have  
never been repealed. Come now, Harry, chin up. Where's that Gryffindor  
courage?"  
  
"--is a sacred bond, passed down to us by ancestral deities who revered the act  
of--"  
  
"Harry's getting married?" Dudley asked, peering in from the hall. "To a man?"  
He burst into loud laughter.  
  
"You've all gone mad," Harry said. "Snape's not my father, so how can he...  
*sell* me like this?"  
  
"--blessed by Hestia herself, sealed in modern magical law when Merlin took the  
fair Nimue--"  
  
"I've no idea how it came about." Malfoy tossed his hair, and frowned at the  
mantle. He seemed to be appraising the trinkets lined along it. "I only know  
that the owl advised me the conditions of the contract would come to fruition  
on this day, and named you as my potential betrothed."  
  
"Now see here," Vernon said. "If you, er, marry the boy... you'll be... taking  
him away, then?"  
  
"He certainly won't stay here," Malfoy said, glaring.  
  
"--to pass the gift of magic on to your progeny, to uphold the laws of Merlin,  
to honour the vows of Athena--"  
  
"Well, be certain you take all his devil's tools with you. I want my house free  
of witchcraft when he leaves."  
  
"But Snape's *not* my father," Harry all but screamed.  
  
"On the contrary." Malfoy rapped the top of Harry's head with the stick.  
"Really, Harry, I understand you were raised by muggles, but you've had five  
years to overcome that unfortunate handicap. Exactly what part of 'magical  
contract' do you not comprehend, hmm? However it came about, you *are* dear  
Severus' son, and the contract knows it. Ah, I do."  
  
"And does Harold James Potter consent to--"  
  
"No! I don't!" Harry said, but the goblin, Rappelhorn, stepped forward.  
  
"He does, per the will of his biological and magical father, one Severus Snape,  
as witnessed and notarized by myself on the eleventh day of December, in the  
year nineteen-hundred eighty."  
  
The contract burned in Harry's grip, and he realized he was crushing it. Teeth  
bared, he tore purposefully at the hated document, but the parchment flared  
white-hot in his hands.  
  
"Unbreakable," Malfoy whispered in his ear.  
  
"--then by the authority vested in me by the British Ministry of Magic, I  
pronounce you legally wed. Well, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Crane smiled, and  
tucked the book away. "And it looks like we'll have time to stop for a pint  
before the missus expects me home, eh, Bill?" He elbowed Parish, who had been  
scribbling with a quill and parchment throughout the ceremony.  
  
"Sign here, Mr Malfoy," Parish said, the first he'd spoken all night. "And you,  
too, Mr Rappelhorn. Mr Dursley? Mrs Dursley?"  
  
Vernon and Petunia, despite holding the quill as though it were a live snake,  
appeared quite cheerful as they signed. Rappelhorn rolled up the betrothal  
contract and handed it to Malfoy, while Parish duplicated the marriage license  
with a flick of his wand. He gave one copy to Malfoy, and tucked the other into  
a satchel bulging with scrolls, which he then shrunk and placed in his pocket.  
  
"Congratulations, Mr Malfoy, Mr Potter," Crane said, shaking Malfoy's hand. He  
didn't even attempt to touch Harry again. "Come on, Bill. The Leaky Cauldron  
closes early on Wednesdays."  
  
"His stuff's in the second bedroom on the right," Vernon said, sitting on the  
couch and flicking on the television. "His school trunk's under the stairs.  
Make sure you take that bloody owl as well."  
  
Malfoy stared down his nose at Vernon. He seemed offended at the insinuation  
they pack Harry's things themselves. "A house-elf will be along shortly to  
collect Harry's belongings."  
  
The air, already close, thickened until Harry could feel it pouring down his  
throat, anger and shock battling for control of his tongue. Malfoy slid an arm  
around his waist as he wobbled, the support steady but far too familiar for  
Harry's liking.  
  
"Don't touch me," he whispered, but Malfoy ignored him.  
  
"I almost forgot, my dear. This is for you." Malfoy produced a small box, and  
through a feat of graceful juggling managed to take out a ring and slide it  
onto Harry's finger, all without removing his arm from its presumptuous place  
at Harry's waist.  
  
Understanding now how Sirius could have laughed as the aurors took him away,  
Harry ignored his aunt's envious gasp. The thick band of white gold, topped  
with a crystal-clear emerald the size of his smallest fingernail, only weighed  
on his hand, a heavy reminder of the second-worst night of his life.  
  
TBC 


	3. Three

Thanks to everyone who's reading and enjoying this, and especially those who let me know in some way, shape, or form. And Maeglin, I'm sorry to tease you again, but I *am* working on chapter 6.  
  
ADDITIONAL WARNINGS: As this is a work in progress, it's constantly mutating, according to how much my muse has had to drink. My inborn plausibility radar refused to let me write any fluffy romantic wedding-night scenes, so there is some non-con coming up. All I can say is that it will get better, and that I have a fondness for putting Lucius in his place, so don't expect Harry to stay down for long.  
  
_indicates underline_  
  
  
  
3.  
  
Flushed from his most recent triumph, Draco Malfoy sauntered into the summer flat he shared with Crabbe, Goyle, and until recently, Zabini.  
  
"Did you see the look on his face?" he asked Crabbe, not really caring to hear the answer, but wanting to prompt another round of congratulations. "It was worth a month of courting the filthy mudblood just to see that expression. I hope someone got a pict--" Glass crunched beneath his heel, cutting him off.  
  
Draco held up a hand, halting his oblivious friends. "Lumos."  
  
Wandlight flooded the dark flat, illuminating the aftermath of a violent, destructive rage: overturned furniture, shattered vases and windows, slashed paintings. Draco's first thought was Zabini, but the snivelling mudblood didn't have the bollocks to trash a Malfoy's property, even if he'd had time to get back, destroy the place, and leave before Draco arrived. A muffled sniffling from one of the bedrooms confirmed his guess. Mudblood or not, Zabini was still a Slytherin, and no Slytherin would wait around for the counter-attack after extracting revenge.  
  
"Get out," he said to Crabbe and Goyle.  
  
"But it's after midnight," Goyle said, face more bewildered than usual. "Where're we gonna go?"  
  
"Do I care? Go home."  
  
"But all the portkey stations are closed," Crabbe said.  
  
"Then walk the streets until some pervert picks you up. Just go."  
  
"Our stuff--"   
  
Goyle, catching Draco's mood at last, clamped a hand over Crabbe's mouth before he could get any farther. "We'll just be going then. Er, send an owl or something when you want us."  
  
Draco flicked a hand impatiently at them, and they tromped away. Muttering to himself, he crossed the disaster that was once an upscale summer flat in Athens, and entered his bedroom. The dishevelled creature curled up on his bed burst into fresh sobs as he came in.  
  
Draco sighed. "All right, Mother. What's he done now?"  
  
* * * * *  
  
Lucius kept a firm grip on the boy as they left the pedestrian muggle home, not wanting to take the chance that Harry would do something idiotic. At the end of the walk he felt the resistance of the wards; Crane let him in when they arrived, but the Wizard of the Peace and his assistant had already departed.  
  
"Now, now, Albus. I've a legal right to take the boy where I wish." Lucius fingered the scroll, and Harry held his breath while the wards considered. The night relaxed abruptly, and Lucius smirked. Intelligent spells were sometimes a detriment. "Come along, darling. You've had a long day, and I'm sure you want to get home."  
  
"Don't call me that. And don't touch me." Harry jerked his arm away and smoothed the arm of his grubby shirt as though Lucius' touch had soiled it further. Despite the boy's pretense of offended compliance, Lucius anticipated the sudden lunge to the right, and hooked the head of his cane in Harry's collar, pulling him up short. He dropped one solid arm over the thin, shaking shoulders, and pulled the trembling body close.  
  
"I realize your new situation is overwhelming, my dear, however I will not tolerate any foolishness," he murmured directly into the boy's ear. Harry shuddered, and Lucius hid a smile. The arrangement had begun as a tactical exercise, but he was beginning to realize his new husband could offer far more than political gain. "Until you are eighteen, you must be in the care of an adult, and since the ministry says a married minor's welfare is the charge of his or her spouse, that would be me. That includes the decision on where you live." He tipped Harry's chin up, fascinated by the shine the waking street lamps cast on green eyes. The tears did not fall, however, and Lucius ran his thumb over the split lip. "You can't want to stay here."  
  
Harry jerked his head away. "Better the Dursleys than following you meekly to Voldemort's feet."  
  
"Darling, why on earth would I bring you to Voldemort? He wants to kill you, you know."  
  
"So do you! You were there in the graveyard."  
  
Lucius sobered; there lay the crux of his current difficulty. "Yes, I was. I was there to witness a fourteen-year-old child humiliate the Dark Lord. Ah, yes, I'd nearly forgotten -- the ring is a portkey, charmed to activate on the words 'remeo leo'."  
  
The boy vanished mid-gasp. Lucius chuckled to the deserted muggle street, and touched one of his cloak pins. "Remeo serpens," he said, and the world melted around him.  
  
* * * * *  
  
No classes. No children. No noise. No semi-omniscient, loopy headmaster. No semi-omniscient, loopy Dark Lord; Voldemort was still licking his wounds after his latest showdown with the Brat-Who-Lived.  
  
No Harry Potter.  
  
Severus rolled his sherry glass between his fingers, staring unseeing at the pages of his book. *The* book, in fact. His most treasured possession. Bound in dragonhide, printed in Vienna in 1321 -- long before muggles had ever built a press. It contained, among others, formulae for a topical patronus potion which had saved his sanity in Azkaban, Lupin's wolfsbane, a singularly nasty permanent polyjuice, a gilding potion which lasted twenty-one years as opposed to the usual three days... only Nicholas Flamel had come closer to true alchemy.  
  
The book represented all of his choices. Mind over heart. Knowledge over comfort. Power over family. He hated the book, yet thanked it every day for condoning his isolation. He cursed it every night for the same reason.   
  
No papers to grade. No Gryffindors to catch rule-breaking.  
  
Most of the summer he gladly forgot those things, but some nights, like this one, he would welcome an interruption, for he had other things he wanted to forget. Lucius Malfoy, for one. Lucius, gliding around like the shark he was, sensing blood. Lucius, dangling the book in front of Severus' nose only weeks before Christmas, when the previous Christmas he had been making love with Lily before the fire in their bedroom, when by the new year she had told him she was leaving, going back to James.  
  
Lucius, who knew all about blood and weakness, who hissed in Severus' ear about tainted lines, about treacherous bitches only showing the nature of the filth that ran their veins.  
  
And Severus had listened.  
  
He downed the warm sherry, fingered his forearm, and tried to think of pleasant things, and when that failed, of things less disturbing. *Think of spring, 1977, of running into Lily outside Flourish and Blot's, of the shallow conversation of former classmates who haven't seen each other since leaving school growing warmer and more meaningful, of the indifference with which she told you she and James had split up. You know better now, don't you, Severus? You know she wore her brave Gryffindor face and let you comfort her for nearly two years... let you believe she loved you.*  
  
The voice in his mind sounded like Lucius, and he ignored it, knowing it had led him astray before. Lucius, Lucius, Lucius, who had witnessed the awkward scene as Severus ran into Lily, James, and their four-month-old son while Christmas shopping. Lucius who had struck the very next day, enticing Severus to sign away any chance for a family of his own.  
  
Unless he wanted Malfoy for a son-in-law, of course.  
  
He choked a little on the sherry as he recalled the notice the Gringott's owl had brought. Why in the hell would the Department of Domestic Forms and Contracts notify Severus Snape that Lucius Malfoy was getting betrothed? Shaking off some of the alcoholic haze, Severus groped for the letter, and finally found it under the wine bottle.   
  
*_Professor Severus Snape_, you are hereby notified that the conditions delineated in the betrothal contract dated the _11th_ day, _December_, of the year _1980_, have been met. The applicant, _Lucius Avernus Malfoy_, has affirmed his intent to honour the contract, and the ceremony will take place the _31st_ day, July, of the year _1996_. Your presence at the ceremony is optional.*  
  
Not a notice of betrothal after all, but a notice that the conditions outlined in the contract had been met. He flipped to the back of the book, where the price of its purchase lay magically sealed onto the back cover. He released it and compared the dates and terms. They matched, which seemed to indicate Severus had a child. A sixteen-year-old child.  
  
"Merlin's balls, that's impossible," he told his empty bedroom. "I was faithful to Lily for two years, and never so much as looked at another woman after she left. Then I signed that damned contract and abandoned my heterosexuality."  
  
He paused, rethought that statement, tried to calculate dates, and cursed the sherry numbing his mind. It must have been the alcohol, for he kept coming to the same conclusion.  
  
"Albus!" he shouted, then realized he hadn't initiated the fire call yet. He corrected this, and tried again. "Albus!"  
  
Dumbledore's face appeared in the flames, wide-awake though it was after midnight. "Severus, my boy. No need to shout. I'm quite up."  
  
"Albus..." Severus took a deep breath, hoping he was wrong, that Dumbledore would point out an obvious flaw in his theory, smile benignly, and send him off to bed with an admonishment to stop thinking about such things while drunk. "Albus, we may have a problem." 


	4. Four

4.  
  
The portkey deposited Lucius in the main hall of his home, and he chuckled at the shouted, "Remeo leo! Remeo leo!" echoing off the high ceiling.  
  
"It's a one-way key, Harry, dearest. It will bring you only to Malfoy Manor, and as you are already here, it will not work again until you leave." He removed his gloves and cloak, and tossed them to the house-elf which appeared at his heels. "Teagle, have someone go to Little Whinging -- number four, Privet Drive -- to collect all of Harry Potter's belongings. Place them in the mistress' chambers, and be sure you don't miss anything." The elf bobbed her head and vanished, and Lucius turned back to Harry. "The ring will always bring you back here, should you need to escape," he continued as though the interruption had not occurred.  
  
"And what if here is where I need to escape from?" the brat shot back.  
  
"Why, you shall have to wait for me to save you, I suppose." Lucius crooked a finger. "Now, come here."  
  
Harry stepped back, looking ready to bolt, though all of the exits were sealed.  
  
"I've no wish to play cat and mouse with you this night, my dear, although the idea has potential. Perhaps some other time. For now I only wish to cement this union. Petrificus totalus," he added conversationally. "Mobilicorpus."  
  
Lucius turned and headed for the curved, marble staircase, hearing the unnaturally even tread of a mobilized body follow obediently. He hated to admit it, but his heart rate sped at the delightful sound. He decided to relax and enjoy himself, for the night had gone much more smoothly than he could have hoped, with the added bonus of Harry's charming reactions. The boy flitted between helpless rage and tearful fright like a drunken bumblebee, and it amused Lucius that Voldemort himself could only provoke classic Gryffindor courage.  
  
It unsettled him, too, if he were honest with himself. Sometime over the thirteen years of Voldemort's 'demise', tirades on the death of their cause became bitter grumbling, then hollow mouthings. The Dark Lord would return and defeat their enemies. Voldemort would purge the taint from their society. World hunger would be eliminated.  
  
*Pish,* Lucius thought. *If that ass Pettigrew hadn't pulled his little necromantic stunt, we might have woken up and resumed the work ourselves. Perhaps the Death Eaters might have accomplished something with myself at the reins.* Being dead had done something to Voldemort; that, or Harry Potter was a lot more powerful than he appeared. Lucius tilted the cane so the snake's silver tongue showed him the boy pacing woodenly behind him. Definitely the first.  
  
Even after accumulating a collection of defeats at the hands of the Boy Who Lived, Voldemort persisted in confronting him. The old Voldemort would have neutralized Harry if he could not be eliminated, but this new, twisted, half-mad thing obsessed over his failure to kill one boy. Lucius snorted. A proper Slytherin knew when to retreat; only Gryffindors persisted even when they knew they would lose.  
  
"Ah, here we are," Lucius said as they arrived at his door. He hissed something in parseltongue at the pewter snake guarding the door handle -- not that he understood the language, but the password had descended through his family for generations, a reminder of a past more glorious. His grandfather told him the sibilant whisper meant 'uninvited beware', and made him practice hissing it for hours. *I suppose I shall have to change it now, with a parselmouth for a husband. Pity.*  
  
Despite losing a centuries-old password few could even pronounce should they guess it, the thought of his husband sent a coil of anticipation worming into Lucius' stomach, creeping lower until he became hyper-aware of the silk underclothes rubbing against his imminent erection. He led Harry inside, shutting and sealing the door behind him, through the parlour, where he repeated the process on the next door, then the lounge, and finally the bedroom.   
  
Lucius cast the last locking spell and turned to observe his new spouse, standing stiff under the petrificus. It would be too easy to strip and bind him thus, and simple, albeit uncomfortable, to take unyielding flesh.   
  
"Finite incantatum," he said, and was across the room before Harry could do more than gasp in outrage. He seized the boy and pulled him close, using one hand to prevent escape and the other to explore his prize. Far too thin -- he could count ribs -- but the muscle tone was there. Flesh firm, skin unblemished, and.... He ignored Harry's furious yell as he delved into the boy's too-loose trousers. Yes, sizeable package. He might -- at some point in the far future -- consider bottoming. Once he was certain Harry had learned his place.  
  
"Let's just dispose of these, shall we?" Lucius said, imbuing his voice with good cheer just to watch the indignant blush blossom on Harry's cheeks. Once he removed the frayed belt, the trousers fell away with embarrassing ease, and Harry's blush deepened.  
  
Nevertheless, he made a grab for Lucius' wand, and Lucius allowed it, and tsked when Harry cried out and stuck his burnt fingers in his mouth.  
  
"As much as I enjoy you squirming so eagerly against me, I think this will be much more pleasant for both of us if we slow down a bit. Corpus relaxo."  
  
The delightful but hindering struggles ceased, and Harry swayed. "What...?"  
  
"It's a simple languor spell. Honestly, darling, you'd think you were a muggle. It leaves your senses sharp but slows voluntary reactions and lessens motor control. See how easy everything is now?" Lucius removed Harry's remaining clothes and led the now pliant boy to his bed. "Up you get. Watch your balance... I know it's frustrating, but don't cry. It will wear off soon. Shh, don't cry."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Dumbledore had neither smiled nor sent him to bed, and, most unfortunately, he had not offered another explanation. Apparating to Malfoy Manor -- against Dumbledore's advice -- Severus fought down the bitter mixture of rage, nausea, and fresh betrayal; Lily had certainly known her child's father, for there was no way *his* son so closely resembled James Potter without magic. He wondered why no one had noticed before, for it was unnatural for a child to so strongly resemble just *one* parent.  
  
*Except for the eyes. Those lying, mudblood eyes.*  
  
Lucius' voice again, and he shoved it away. He would *not* listen to that voice ever again.  
  
* * * * *  
  
"Divorced?" Draco pulled back in shock, and Narcissa clung even tighter. "Stop it, you're tearing my shirt. Now, tell me what happened. I assume you agreed to it or the paperwork would not have gone through the ministry so quickly."  
  
"I signed the divorce papers at the same time as the betrothal agreement. Don't look at me like that! He said it was in case of an emergency."  
  
"And you believed him?"  
  
"No, but he would have called off the wedding if I hadn't signed."  
  
Draco petted the blonde head, which leaked tears and less noble fluids onto his favourite shirt, more to quiet his mother than comfort her. "So why did he file them now? What is there to gain?"  
  
"I don't know." Narcissa sniffled, and Draco irritably ordered her to use the handkerchief he'd given her. "I've been in Paris for the last three weeks. The papers came this morning by owl while I was taking breakfast, and when I tried to return home the wards had been changed."  
  
"Did you at least prearrange a settlement when you signed over power to divorce you at will?"  
  
"Don't speak to me in that manner! I'm still your mother. Yes, I've the villa, this flat, and a tenth of the Gringott's vault. A tenth! After twenty years of living in hell with the devil--"  
  
Draco tuned her out as the tears turned to profanity. He had no idea what his father had planned, but he would find out as soon as it was safe to leave Narcissa alone. Right now she would probably do something idiotic like slit her wrists, and with her luck no one would find her and the play for sympathy would blow up on her. He rolled his eyes as she started the well-hashed list of Lucius' faults.  
  
"Yes, Mother, he's a bastard." *Of course he is. He's a Malfoy.* 


	5. Five

5.  
  
Harry's heart hammered against his ribs, as though he'd swallowed a chocolate frog spiked with pepper-up potion. Malfoy arranged him on the wide bed, pressing him face-first into sheets that smelled of jasmine, sliding a silk-sheathed pillow beneath his hips and pulling his unresisting limbs apart.  
  
Perfectly manicured hands roamed his body, stroking, pinching, scratching, and no matter how he twisted, they followed. After that came lips, then tongue, and Malfoy had undressed at some point, for his hot skin covered Harry's like a blanket of sweaty satin.  
  
Barring the occasional wet dream, he'd never considered being intimate with another man before, but the fact that it was Malfoy far outweighed the fact that it was a man kissing and touching and licking him. When the hot, wet tongue slid down his spine and passed his tailbone without slowing, Harry could not keep silent. "Please, I've never-- I'm not--" His tongue felt heavy and clumsy and he swore.  
  
Malfoy chuckled, and his breath ghosted over Harry's arse, first burning, then cooling. Strong fingers spread his cheeks, and the breath spilled into more intimate places. "Been saving yourself for me, have you? Don't tell me no one has been here before. Not even your own fingers?"  
  
"I'm not gay."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
Harry had no answer, and even if he had, it would have died under the slick probe caressing his hole.  
  
*Malfoy's tongue,* he thought, and the invader pushed, seeking-- *Fuck! Lucius Malfoy's tongue is up my ass. Oh, god, this can't be happening.* He tried to scream, but his throat refused to obey, and only a high moan emerged, broken in two as his breath hitched.  
  
Malfoy chuckled indulgently, as though he'd done something unbearably cute, and replaced the tongue with something slicker, longer, and firmer. It hurt at first, but then it began to move, curling, probing, twisting, stroking his insides. To his shame, his cock hardened.  
  
"You're enjoying yourself," Lucius said, his free hand fondling Harry's balls. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, darling. Everyone is bisexual, to some degree. We'll just have to encourage the part of you that wants to be fucked up the arse, hmm?"  
  
"I'm not gay. I'm not."  
  
Malfoy chuckled, and the finger sliding into him touched a spot that sent lightning to every nerve in Harry's body. "Really?" he purred, and the hand stroking Harry's balls slid forward to caress his hardening prick. "I could have sworn you were enjoying this."  
  
"No," Harry whimpered.  
  
"Look at you... legs spread, arse in the air, moaning like a Knockturn Alley whore, leaking all over my sheets. Your body is begging for it, so why should I listen to your mouth?"  
  
There was lie there, Harry knew. There must be, for this was Malfoy. A lie, but Harry could not discern it with those hands all over him, *inside* him, and that little voice in his mind wondered if he did want it. Surely his prick shouldn't be hard while Malfoy was raping him. *If it is rape,* whispered the voice, and it sounded like Snape; Snape the greasy, Snape the biased, Snape who might be his father. *He's right, you know. You are enjoying this, if only a little.*  
  
*I'm not gay,* he told it, squeezing his eyes closed as another finger joined the first.  
  
*For someone who's not gay, you're certainly getting off on having Malfoy finger-fuck you.*  
  
Harry could only moan in response.  
  
* * * * *  
  
A terrified house-elf escorted Severus into the main hall, but nearly fainted with fright when he tried to go further.  
  
"Sir is not going into the family wing! Teagle is summoning Master for Sir."  
  
Severus shook the creature off and headed for the stairs, wondering how far he would get before the manor's defenses snared him. He was willing to gamble he could make it to the serpent's lair at least; he knew the house, and Malfoy, fairly well -- and he had no choice if he planned on saving the annoying boy yet again. The thought raised more unsettling questions, and he pursued them even as he hexed the stairs to stop biting him and deflected a glue-foot curse cast by the bust of some long-dead Malfoy.   
  
For the first time since the event, Severus had reason to thank James for saving his life. In his attempts to repay the debt by keeping the man's son safe, he had inadvertently guarded his own child.  
  
*My son,* he thought, stepping over a tile that was conspicuously less worn than its neighbours. *I have a son. Harry Potter is my son.*  
  
The last thought caused a tide of bile to rise in his throat. Had he actually expected his feelings for the brat to miraculously transform, he would have been disappointed; he hadn't though, so he was only angry, and baffled as to where the boy's talent for landing in trouble came from. Lily had been--  
  
He cut off that track before it could derail him, and found himself facing a door of ebony, the dark polished surface glinting with magic. The snake handle hissed a warning at him.  
  
Severus had been to Lucius' apartments before, but only as far as the parlour. He wasn't sure how extensive the suite was, but, knowing Lucius, it encompassed the same space as most people's entire houses. It also had some of the strongest wards known to wizard; it had to, to keep Narcissa out.  
  
"Lucius!" he bellowed, settling for a muggle solution. He pounded on the door, ignoring the warning tingle. "Damn you, Lucius, get out here right now!" He waited a moment, then tried again. "Don't forget where *your* son sleeps ten months of the year."  
  
The door opened abruptly, and Lucius caught Severus' fist as it swung for the wood again. "Threats, dear Severus? I thought you'd outgrown such behaviour." Lucius released his arm and stepped back, waving Severus in. His long blonde hair lay sweat-damp against his pale skin, sticking to throat and shoulders. He wore only trousers.  
  
"Where's Potter?" Severus said, pushing into the parlour. He spotted the boy right away, looking lost in the center of the large room, clutching a too-large black silk dressing gown close to his body as though he wanted to seal it to his skin. The trailing sleeves swayed as he shook, and Severus observed his glassy-eyed, shattered gaze with dying hope. Rescue came too late; the boy -- his son, a perverse part of him corrected -- had already been raped. 


	6. Six

Note: This has taken a much darker turn than I originally planned. Explicit non-consensual sex ahoy. You can bail on this chapter without missing anything too important if that bothers you.  
  
  
  
6.  
  
Harry was dimly aware of Snape -- Snape yelling at Malfoy, Snape speaking softly to him, Snape slapping him, Snape pushing him into a chair, Snape forcing something down his throat. Whatever it was released the tight band around his chest, allowing him to breathe but forcing him partway back to reality.  
  
"Potter... Harry." Snape crouched in front of him, features cold and clinical, belying the clumsiness of his speech. "Are you... do you need medical attention? Harry?"  
  
Harry forced his eyes to focus on his professor -- *father,* his traitorous mind whispered -- and said the words he'd been thinking for his eternity in Lucius Malfoy's bedroom.   
  
"Why didn't you come?"   
  
Snape flinched.  
  
Harry saw the movement, and wondered why Snape was so skittish. *He* hadn't been held down to a bed, *he* hadn't had a prick shoved up his arse, *he* hadn't come from delicate balance of pleasure and pain forced upon his body.  
  
"Why didn't you come? Why didn't you..." He trailed off, wondering how he could have put any sort of faith in Snape. When the house-elf had popped into Malfoy's bedroom, eyes bugging at the scene before her, and stammered that she was very sorry but she could not prevent Mister Snape from entering the family wing, Harry dared to hope for rescue. After all, Snape had saved him before.  
  
"You disappoint me, Teagle," Malfoy had said, removing his fingers from Harry's body. "Hold still," he added, and slapped Harry's raised arse. "Teagle, make sure there are refreshments in the parlour. Are the mistress' chambers prepared? Nothing of Narcissa's remains?"  
  
"No, Master Lucius, the chambers are ready for Master Harry. Teagle is a bad elf!"  
  
"Yes, you are," Malfoy said. "Now get out. I'll deal with your incompetence later." The house-elf vanished with a sob, and Malfoy turned back to Harry, and nudged his legs further apart. "Sorry for the interruption, darling. You can thank your father for rushing our wedding night."  
  
Harry shrieked as a hot, tearing pain stabbed into him.  
  
"Hold still... relax... you're only making it worse for yourself, stupid boy." The pain doubled, tripled, and Harry could only writhe, limbs flailing weakly, until Malfoy pushed his face into the pillow, repositioned him slightly, and drove all the way in. Harry screamed, sobs muffled by expensive white silk.   
  
"I do apologize for this, Harry. I'll make it up to you tomorrow night, but for now we must -- oh, fuck, just like that -- we must make our marriage as binding as possible. I doubt Severus can do anything, but I don't trust that crafty old coot you call a headmaster. Mmm, you are tight, aren't you?"  
  
A large hand rested lightly on the back of his head, petting him as though he were a skittish animal; the other gripped his hip tightly, holding him in place while Malfoy fucked him. As Harry continued to struggle, the hand drifted down to stroke his now-limp prick.  
  
"Damn Severus to hell, anyway. You're not enjoying this at all anymore. Well, let's try something else then." An arm snaked around his waist, drawing him up as Malfoy sat on his haunches, snugging Harry into the slope of his lap. The change of angle made the head of Malfoy's prick rub over that little spot inside him, and the strokes came faster and much shallower. Malfoy was barely moving, and the pain all but vanished, yet the rubbing began to set off sparks.  
  
Harry whimpered as his own prick filled again, and Malfoy murmured approval in his ear, his free hand drifting between Harry's nipples and his cock and balls.  
  
"That's it, good boy," Malfoy whispered. "Let's try again." He pushed Harry back down to his previous position, gripped his hips, and began thrusting again.  
  
This time the pain was less and the pleasure greater. To his intense shame his prick stayed hard, and he realized that if Malfoy kept it up, he was going to come.   
  
He renewed his weak struggles, raised his face from the pillow, turned to look at Malfoy's flushed face and silver eyes slitted with avarice.  
  
"Beg me."  
  
Harry shook his head, then screamed as Malfoy thrust viciously, reviving pain and leaving him sobbing.  
  
"Beg. Ask for release."  
  
"No."  
  
The pace increased, and his flesh mercifully numbed except for the one spot he wanted to not feel, that spot Malfoy's prick kept hitting, that was making him enjoy his own rape. Malfoy's hand moved fast on his prick.  
  
"Come on, Harry. Swallow your Gryffindor pride and beg, and it will all be over."  
  
"No. No, no, no, I won't, I wo--" His breath caught, and pleasure resonated through him, exiting his body in a spasm of whiteness, a wet stain on pale sheets.  
  
Malfoy made a huff of disappointment, gripped is hips more firmly, and increased his pace. Harry barely felt him stiffen, but moaned as he felt a trickle of wetness run down his thigh.   
  
Hammering on the door pulled him from his daze. Malfoy had pulled on trousers and now threw a robe at Harry. "Up and dressed, dear. If your father troubled himself to get this far, the least we can--"  
  
Pain.  
  
Harry jerked back, blinking at Snape. The sting in his cheek told him Snape had struck him again. "Ow. What did you do that for?"  
  
"You were crying and staring out into space," Snape said, looking eerily concerned for a moment before his expression firmed. "You wouldn't answer."  
  
Harry blinked at him. He remembered Snape coming in, Malfoy... Malfoy's amusement. But how did he get in the chair? "Can we go now?"  
  
Snape's face, if possible, went even colder. "It's not that simple, Potter."  
  
"On the contrary, Harry," Malfoy said, handing Snape a glass of wine, which Snape tossed into the fire. "It's *quite* simple. You're my husband. You're over the age of consent but under the age of majority. Therefore, you live where I deem appropriate, and I deem la Maison appropriate. Simple, no?"  
  
"Don't imagine you've won so easily, Lucius." Snape turned his glare on Malfoy, and flicked his fingers to the door. "I wish to speak with Potter alone."  
  
"Very well, I shall leave you to explain the inevitability of the situation to the boy." Malfoy stood and sauntered over to the inner door, paused, glanced back with delighted malice, then added, "Good luck... Father." 


	7. Seven

Note: Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I won't name names,  
because it drives me nuts when half the chapter is responses,  
so I'm sending out a general smooch to you all. As for the  
story, I *think* the worst is over, but there may be   
backsliding.  
  
  
7.   
  
Potter was watching him with an expression Severus had  
never seen directed at him, the look of a lost child who  
has spotted an auror. Naturally the one time the brat chose  
to trust him would be the moment Severus could do nothing.  
  
"Pot-- Harry. Listen carefully to me--"  
  
"Are you my father?"  
  
Severus suppressed the urge to take ten points for  
interrupting him. "Magical contracts cannot be broken,  
altered, or avoided, even when the participants don't know  
all the facts. So, yes, it appears that I am."  
  
"Can we leave now? Please?"  
  
"Will you be still? I'm trying to explain--"  
  
Potter drew back into the chair, huddled in on himself.  
Severus attempted to rein in his impatience.  
  
"Harry... this situation is... entirely my fault." The  
words felt strange and awkward on his lips. "Well, mine and  
Malfoy's. Hate me if you will, but I swear I had no idea I  
had any children when I signed the contract.  
Unfortunately... unfortunately, I *did* sign it, and there  
is nothing I can do to break it."  
  
Potter neither moved nor looked at him.  
  
"I have a little hope Albus might pull something crafty,  
but until then, Harry, you must learn to handle Malfoy."  
  
"*What*?"  
  
Pleased he'd gotten a reaction, even incredulous fury,  
Severus gripped Harry's cold hands. "Malfoy is a predator,  
and like any predator he will strike if he senses weakness.  
You cannot let him think he hurt you. You cannot appear  
vulnerable."  
  
"He-- you--" Harry's face went from white to mottled  
purple. "You fucking prick! You sadistic, cocksucking  
bastard!" He tore his hands from Severus', balled them to  
fists, struck his chest. "Don't you even think you can tell  
me what to do. Where the fuck were you? Where were you?"  
  
Blows rained down on him, and Severus accepted them as his  
due, seething at the indignity.  
  
"I hate you!"  
  
"I assure you, Potter, the feeling is more than mutual."  
  
"Well, isn't that just touching?" Lucius said from the  
doorway. "He appears to have inherited your temper, Sev."  
  
Severus glared, regretting his own loss of control earlier.  
Lucius knew he had the upper hand now. *Twenty-five years,  
and I still let him get to me.* "I assume the boy has his  
own rooms. Wouldn't want him to slit your throat in the  
middle of the night after all."  
  
Lucius nodded, and twirled his wine glass. "The house-elves  
have finished fumigating Narcissa's rooms, though I dare  
say it will stink of rose water for months." Lucius  
beckoned them forward.  
  
Harry had collapsed back into the chair, but Severus pulled  
him to his feet and dragged him, unresisting, after Lucius,  
who led them deeper into his apartment and through a  
well-warded door.  
  
The rooms on the other side were every bit as opulent as  
Lucius' suite, though they possessed an echoing, expectant  
quality that came of the absence of personal touches. The  
scent of roses was overpowering.  
  
"I'll leave you to tuck him in, Sev. You have sixteen years  
of bedtime stories to make up for." Lucius grinned, and  
slipped back through the door to his own domain.  
  
Severus examined the apartment. That Lucius gave Harry the  
mistress's chambers implied he took the marriage seriously,  
or at least didn't intend to toss the boy to Voldemort or  
lock him in the dungeon.  
  
Potter jerked his wrist free. "Don't touch me." He wandered  
aimlessly through the cluster of feminine furniture.  
  
"I suggest you co-operate with me, Mr Potter, if you want  
my help," Severus said. He began searching for hidden  
spells, removing traps and listening charms placed by both  
Lucius and the suite's former occupant.  
  
"You said you couldn't help," Potter muttered, flinging  
himself onto a pink and yellow settee.  
  
"I said I couldn't break the contract. Pay attention. You  
are by no means helpless." Severus ducked into the bathing  
room, set the tub filling, and removed all sharp objects  
with a quick accio. "I expect you want to bathe. You will  
leave the door open."  
  
"But--"  
  
"You will leave the door open, or I will supervise you.  
Understood?"  
  
Blushing furiously, Potter stormed off to the bathing room,  
defiantly closing the door halfway. Shaking his head at  
Gryffindor ox-headedness, Severus went about examining the  
state of the wards, ferreting out hidden entrances, pausing  
now and then to check that the boy hadn't tried to drown  
himself.   
  
The house-elves had placed Potter's possessions in the  
obvious places, the trunk at the end of the bed, the owl  
cage hanging on the stand. Severus let the bird out, filled  
the food and water dishes by the perch, and gave her a  
treat for enduring the confinement. She hooted softly, and  
he stroked her feathers before remembering to whom she  
belonged. "Let's just not mention this to Potter," he told  
her, and wasn't surprised when she winked.  
  
Leaving the owl to entertain herself, he unlocked the boy's  
trunk and rifled through it, noting he would need to create  
a hiding spot for things like Potter's invisibility cloak.  
HeÊ searched for some decent clothing, but all he found  
were school robes and worn muggle clothes that looked as  
though they belonged to someone else. *Stupid house-elves  
probably packed the wrong things.*  
  
He settled for an enormous t-shirt and a pair of sweat  
pants that looked as though they'd shrunk in the wash, took  
them into the bathing room. He ignored the boy's outraged  
squeal and brusquely told him to hurry up.  
  
By the time Potter emerged, skin a violent red, trousers  
too short and shirt too long, Severus had almost finished  
his spells. He walked Potter through each of them,  
explaining which spells he had created and which were  
pre-existing and therefore suspect. He pointed out the  
three exits -- one to the corridor, one to Lucius'  
apartments, and a hidden passage which led to the  
conservatory -- and showed him the verbal commands to  
operate the wards. The storage space he'd created in one of  
the still lifes -- the only remaining paintings as the  
first thing he'd done was incinerate all the portraits as  
obvious spies -- was also keyed to verbal commands, and did  
not require a wand to use.  
  
Lastly, he dug out his potions field kit, a compact bundle  
of tiny bottles containing various emergency substances. He  
had a few others secreted about his person, and he removed  
the ones he wanted, lining them up along a table.  
  
"This," he said holding up an amber vial, "is fire-talk  
powder. There is enough for one call, so I suggest you  
conserve it. This one is floo powder, but as I expect the  
floos are restricted, you shouldn't waste it unless you  
*know* you can access it." He moved on to a series of green  
and blue vials. "Healing potion, skele-gro, pepper-up,  
dreamless sleep, somnolence." He paused at the pale blue  
bottle, and moved a compact of green pills next to it.  
"This is a prophylactic to the somnolence potion, which is  
in the form of a topical salve." He paused again, uncertain  
how to phrase his suggestion. "If you take a pill, then  
apply the salve to your skin, anyone who... touches you  
will fall asleep."  
  
His eyes flicked up to Potter's face, and he tensed at the  
pathetic gratitude written there. The last thing he needed  
was Potter dependent on him.  
  
Potter didn't need it either.  
  
Severus turned back to the vials. His hand hovered over the  
series of black ones, then moved on. No doubt Lucius took  
standard precautions against poisons, and knowing Potter,  
he'd accidentally kill a house-elf. He selected a purple  
one. "This is breath-ease. It's designed to counter  
suffocation charms, and if applied to one who is breathing  
normally, well... the effects are rather like a  
hallucinogenic. Use it *very* cautiously. Lucius deranged  
may possibly be worse than Lucius sane." He handed the boy  
a full set of the purple vials, all healing potions with  
potential harm in misuse. They would likely do nothing but  
inconvenience Lucius, but he felt Potter needed every  
weapon at his disposal, and he doubted Lucius took steps  
against *healing* potions.  
  
He handed over the last vial, a laxative, and endured  
Potter's smothered giggles for a few seconds. "What are you  
off on now?" he asked, but couldn't make his voice too  
strict. At least the brat was laughing.  
  
"Just wondering... what the... Weasley twins'd pay... for  
all this."  
  
Severus hid a smirk. "Well, you shall never know, because  
you will return the remainder to me at the start of the  
school year. And speaking of which..." He pulled Potter's  
wand, which he had rescued from the locked trunk, from his  
robes, and the boy made a grab for it. He held it out of  
reach. "I will return this to you, *but* remember: if you  
use it, you will be expelled from Hogwarts. If you are  
expelled, you will spend the next two years of your life  
here with Lucius Malfoy."  
  
Potter froze, hand outstretched, eyes wide. He swallowed  
hard, nodded, and Severus let him have the wand.   
  
"Be certain to use it only in the direst circumstances.  
Now, it's very late, and I must report back to Albus before  
he thinks I've bumbled into one of Lucius' traps. And we'd  
best get the crafty old coot working on a permanent  
solution." He paused at Potter's frightened gaze. "I shall  
return in the morning with some more items for your  
arsenal."  
  
Potter grinned, though the fear remained on his face, and  
Severus allowed himself a smirk before he turned to go.  
"Professor Snape?"  
  
He glanced back over his shoulder.  
  
"Did you love her?" Green eyes pleaded with him to lie if  
the answer was no.  
  
He nodded, once, sharply, not trusting his voice, then  
swept out the corridor exit before he could see if the boy  
believed him. He stopped outside the door, listening as  
Potter's tremulous voice closed and locked the wards, and  
he pushed away thoughts of Lily by imagining Lucius'  
reaction when he discovered himself barred from his new  
husband's chambers.  
  
  
  
  
Next: The Battle Royale begins. 


	8. Eight

One day I will get off my lazy butt and figure out how to upload  
in html. Today is not that day.  
  
PO'ed Eskimo: Here it is. Don't hurt me! :P   
  
  
  
8.  
  
Narcissa had been right about the wards. Draco's attempt to  
apparate bounced, and deposited him in the nearest train  
station, and much to his chagrin, his abrupt appearance  
drew attention from locals and travellers alike. Malfoys  
simply did not apparate into train stations; they arrived  
by carriage and accompanied by a dozen trunks and a handful  
of house-elves, caused a fuss, complained about the  
service, held up the lines, inconvenienced everyone.  
  
They did not pop about entourage-less, dressed in slightly  
rumpled clothing and aggrieved expressions.  
  
Casting a universal threatening glare, which promised  
unimaginable pain to anyone who so much as coughed, Draco  
stalked over to the callhearth -- the *public* callhearth  
-- and dropped two knuts into the slot, upon which the fire  
sprang to life, and the dispenser spat a cloud of powder  
over it.  
  
"Lucius Malfoy."  
  
Instead of his father's strong-jawed, stubborn face, a  
small, wrinkled house-elf appeared in the flames. "I is  
sorry, Master Draco, but Master Lucius is not taking calls  
this morning."  
  
"Teagle! Get me inside those wards, *now*."  
  
"I is sorry, Master Draco, but Teagle can't lower the  
wards. Master Lucius' orders. I... I is sending a carriage  
to pick Master Draco up, but if you wishes, you can  
apparate to the gates--"  
  
"I certainly will not appear at my own gates like a beggar!  
You get me out of this station this instant, Teagle."  
  
The head house-elf's face twisted into a mask of anxiety.  
"I is sorry, Master Draco. The wards is not to be dropped.  
The carriage is being there in half an hour." Teagle ended  
the call before he could protest.  
  
Swearing creatively, but quietly, Draco considered his  
options. Apparate to the gates -- not only demeaning, but  
illegal as he was fifteen and not licensed, and dangerous  
as the antidetection charms on his wand were not meant for  
heavy use -- or wait for the carriage -- also demeaning,  
but without the risk of an embarrassing expulsion from  
Hogwarts. Much as he hated the place, it would not do to  
have a Malfoy thrown out of anywhere.  
  
Sighing inwardly, he found a cafe from which to endure the  
gawking.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Severus had reached a level of fury previously only  
provoked by Sirius Black. Second place normally belonged to  
Potter -- though which one he wasn't sure -- but Albus and  
Voldemort had always tied for third on his scale of  
rage-inducing persons.  
  
Or at least they did until ten minutes ago, when Albus shot  
directly to number one, displacing Black's long-held title  
as Wizard Most Likely to Give Severus Snape an Aneurysm.  
  
He tottered blindly toward the rooms he occupied ten months  
of the year, not trusting himself with the transportation  
of his own body any farther than the dungeons. He'd splinch  
himself if he tried to go home, or end up circling the floo  
network for hours or portkeying into a dragon's den. His  
fists clenched at his sides so tightly they vibrated,  
snippets of conversation swirling through his head.  
  
*not such a terrible calamity after all, Severus*  
  
*a gamble, true, but look at the stakes*  
  
*he's a strong boy, and Lucius underestimates him*  
  
*one of Voldemort's greatest supporters*  
  
*the perfect opportunity*  
  
*leash on him at last*  
  
*turn in Harry's favour*  
  
*a strong boy*  
  
*strong*  
  
He skidded to a halt outside the Ravenclaw tower. One week  
as a Death Eater had spent his grief over Lily, and it had  
taken two more for him to swallow his pride and crawl to  
Albus for help. Eleven months of spying, thirteen years of  
tightrope-walking to report naught but rumours and bluster  
from a shattered order, followed by two years in which no  
one -- least of all himself -- knew if he could be trusted.  
  
  
All because Albus saw an opportunity, took a gamble,  
thought Voldemort underestimated him.  
  
Thought he was a strong boy.  
  
"No, no, and no again! I am not a bishop and the boy is not  
a rook. Our lives are not your chess game." He clamped his  
lips shut on the rant that threatened, and resumed motion,  
his former jerky pace infused with purpose until the  
graceful, sweeping bat the children knew so well returned  
in full force.  
  
His rooms sparkled beneath the dust-repellent charm; the  
house-elves began at the bottom and worked their way up  
during summer cleaning. A flick of his wand and a snarled,  
incomprehensible word removed the charm from the hearth  
area, unsealing the set of jars on the mantle. He snatched  
a handful of dust from the second one in, called the flames  
to life, and tossed the powder in.  
  
"Gringott's Wizarding Law Firm, Department of Domestic  
Forms and Contracts."  
  
* * * * *  
  
Breakfast had been on the table for twenty minutes.  
  
"Chizzy." The elf appeared at his elbow, teapot in hand.  
"Put that down, idiot, and go fetch Master Harry for  
breakfast."  
  
Chizzy vanished, and only returned after several minutes  
had passed. He looked considerably greener than usual.  
"Master Harry is saying... is saying he is not hungry."  
  
Lucius snorted, and considered letting the brat proceed  
with his hunger strike, but decided he was too thin as it  
was. He tossed his napkin on the table, and rose.   
  
The trek from the casual dining room to the family  
apartments took nearly ten minutes, during which Lucius had  
plenty of time to nurse his anger. *You'd think he'd be  
grateful to me for taking him out of that pedestrian little  
household. Imagine forcing the most powerful wizard in the  
world to wash dishes.*  
  
The thought gave him pause. Since when had Harry Potter  
been the most powerful wizard in the world? In the top  
five, possibly, but the best? That title surely belonged to  
Voldemort... or, with the Dark Lord's recent floundering,  
Dumbledore. But Dumbledore had not been able to destroy  
Voldemort, for all his conniving. The job fell to Potter  
again and again, and the boy had met the challenge every  
time.  
  
*So what if he is powerful? The Mirror of Elcaro has never  
led my family astray in all the centuries we've owned it.  
Potter's potential only makes him worthy to be my mate. And  
perhaps more.* He tried to dismiss those thoughts, still  
not entirely certain the Dark Mark didn't alert his master  
to traitorous thoughts. He knew he wasn't the only one  
possessed of shaken faith. No one had been suicidal enough  
to desert -- yet -- but the doubt lay in little things...  
late arrivals to meetings, lack of recruits, lack of  
initiative... They were ripe for a new leader, and though  
Lucius was reluctant to risk himself he thought a few of  
his compatriots might follow Potter. Nott, certainly. He'd  
been petrified of the boy since the triwizard tournament.  
Crabbe and Goyle. They would do anything Lucius told them.  
Pettigrew, most likely. The man had a guilt complex a mile  
wide. Severus... Severus, of course, would wish to advance  
his son.  
  
Lucius smirked to himself, then pushed aside the vague  
plans. He couldn't stage a rebellion without Harry's  
cooperation, and that would be a long, and delightful, time  
coming.  
  
"Dar-ling!" he sing-songed, rapping his cane on his  
husband's door.   
  
"Go away." The response, muffled by the heavy oak, sounded  
sulky.  
  
"I know you had a rough day yesterday, but skipping meals  
won't help anything."  
  
"I'm not hungry."  
  
"I won't have you harming yourself because of a  
temper-tantrum, Harry. You need to eat, and I've told the  
house-elves you will only eat at the table, so you may as  
well come out."  
  
"Go to hell."  
  
"Language, Harry." Lucius tried the door knob, and of  
course it wouldn't turn. "La puissance est la vie," he  
whispered. The phrase would unlock any door in the house.  
He tried the handle again.  
  
It burned his fingers.  
  
Firming his jaw, Lucius drew his wand. "Alohomora!"  
  
The door spat blue sparks at him.  
  
Torn between surprise and fury, Lucius pushed back his  
sleeves, and shouted the spell to return all control of the  
wards to their master. "Murus dominatus!"  
  
He flew back through the air and hit the opposite wall,  
cracking a portrait frame and his skull.  
  
The door did not even rattle.  
  
"Potter! Don't even *think* you'll get away with locking me  
out of a part of my own house!"  
  
"*Our* house. Sweetheart."  
  
He staggered back to the door, and began throwing curses at  
the charmed wood, with painful results. "Open the door!"  
  
"Bite me."  
  
"You have to eat some time, Potter."  
  
"I'm sure my father will be very unhappy with you if you  
let me starve to death."  
  
*Severus. Fuck.* "Goddamn it, Potter, open this door this  
instant!"  
  
"Go fuck yourself." A giggle, muffled but clearly  
*laughter*. Potter was laughing at him. "Darling."  
  
Snarling, Lucius raised his wand again.  
  
"Er, Father?"  
  
He spun around to find Draco -- stained, rumpled, and  
all-around disheveled -- staring at him with the same  
wide-eyed timidity one might regard a rampaging hippogriff.  
"Yes, son?" He managed a level tone, and applauded himself.  
  
"Why is Harry Potter locked in Mother's bedroom?"  
  
Lucius blinked. With all the hustle and bustle of getting  
divorced and remarried and the wedding night and trouble  
with the in-laws, he'd forgotten to tell Draco about his  
new stepfather.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Whistling cheerfully, Severus rang the Malfoy's bell, then  
nodded politely at the house-elf who opened the door. "Good  
morning, Chizzy."  
  
"Mister Severus Snape." The elf admitted him, reluctance in  
every gesture.  
  
"Where might I find--" Shouting and the sound of explosions  
from the upper levels answered his question before he could  
complete it. The foyer's chandelier rattled. "Never mind. I  
believe I can find him."   
  
The house-elf seemed grateful to escape, and fled without  
further protest.  
  
Severus strolled through the house, following the appalling  
noise, scroll clutched in fist, Nev-R-Full satchel bouncing  
at his side. Eventually, he arrived outside the traditional  
suite of the mistress of the house, and regarded the swath  
of destruction, which was once a corridor, with grim  
satisfaction.  
  
"--don't care *what* contracts the Mirror of Elcaro told  
you to sign! It's Harry bloody Pot--" A sharp crack  
silenced Draco Malfoy's shrill voice.  
  
"Never question my motives again--"  
  
"But this is intolerable!"  
  
"Do *not* interrupt me! You will tolerate it because I say  
you will."  
  
Severus observed the pair of blondes, amused to see two  
banes of his existence at each other's throats. "I hope I'm  
not disrupting an important father-son chat."  
  
"Severus," Lucius spat. "You did this. How dare you put up  
wards in my house?"  
  
"I did so at the request of your husband -- and if memory  
serves me, he has the right of fair usage of all your major  
assets, including the right to erect wards or have others  
do so on his behalf." Severus rocked gleefully on his heels.   
The morning spent in Mr Pitonschist's company was proving   
both useful and entertaining.  
  
Lucius visibly reined in his temper, and seemed to recall  
Severus was not a wizard to casually annoy. "I am merely  
concerned for the boy. He has refused to come out for  
meals."  
  
Severus smiled brightly, knowing full well the expression  
was both ludicrous and terrifying on his face. "Entirely my  
fault. I promised Harry I would be here for brunch, and he  
was probably waiting on me. Oh, this is for you."  
  
Malfoy took the scroll he offered, and shot Severus a  
venomous glare when it flashed green, signalling that the  
Ministry had recorded the contents as served to the proper  
recipient. "What is this?"  
  
"Cease and desist order. As Harry Potter's biological and  
magical father, I have filed for a partial magical  
restraining order. You are hereby forbidden from using  
magic -- including all hexes, charms, and potions -- upon  
the person of your husband." Severus smirked, though he  
knew that Lucius, once recovered from this setback, would  
be more dangerous than ever. Who knew defending Potter  
could be so much fun? "Violating the terms of the restraint  
is worth a two-hundred and fifty thousand galleon fine and  
up to six months in Azkaban. I trust we have your  
cooperation in the matter." Without waiting for a response,  
he rapped on the door, pleased when Harry admitted him  
immediately.  
  
He stepped inside, and as the door swung shut on his heels,  
he heard Draco yell, "Snape is Potter's father?!"  
  
  
_______________  
  
  
Note: I absolutely could not resist the C&D order. Blame my   
muse. She got into the ice cream again. The battle has only   
just begun, and yes, the Mirror will be explained at some   
point. Thanks again to those of you who reviewed. It's always   
fun to see what people think of the story. I have a lot on   
the go, so don't expect the updates to show up at this pace   
all the time -- I was supposed to be working on Chrysalis but  
got distracted. 


End file.
